


Home Is A Place To Build Together

by NotInPublic



Series: Prompts [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cousin Incest, F/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 14:33:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7365343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotInPublic/pseuds/NotInPublic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: How about Jon "I-like-the-wolf-bit" Snow awkwardly trying to give Sansa a compliment sometime after they have begun to settle back in at Winterfell. Thanks :)</p><p>Sansa sees through Jon's awkward compliments to what's really happening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Is A Place To Build Together

**Author's Note:**

> I loved this prompt! I had planned to go down the comedy route but when I sat down to write it, it turned out to be a little darker, longer and dirtier than expected... I blame the Meatloaf songs I was listening to earlier. Anyway, I hope you like it and all comments are welcome!

Life at Winterfell had begun to take shape. Not like in the days before the war, when children ran underfoot whilst women talked, laden baskets resting on the snug of their hips and men fought more for the sport than their lives. No, the busy hustle of prosperous summer was absent from the courtyard, the grain store and the kitchens. Instead it was replaced with the murmurings of preparations for winter; children tended fires whilst women took stock of the too-sparse provisions and men, their rest from the seemingly never-ending battles of the lords they served. Life at Winterfell was not the song of summer to which he had grown up- it was the dance of winter, to which Northerners danced most beautifully of all.

It was like watching a snowdrop bloom after a snowstorm, thought Jon as he watched his people’s movements from the window of his chambers. When the Stark’s had returned, a fledgling hope for their way of life had blossomed- a resilience against the winter to come. That was the northern way of life. The winters are hard, he remembered his father saying but the Stark’s will endure. Jon realised the same was true of all the North, under the right rule.

*******************

After dinner, he found Sansa sewing by the fire, her legs crossed with a peaceful expression on her face as she expertly wove the needle in and out of the fabric draped across her knee. How she could create beautiful pieces from bare materials amazed him. He sometimes felt like all he did was destroy, whilst Sansa had the power to create. He could watch her work for hours, becoming mesmerised by the way the flames cast shadows across her elegant features whilst fighting down thoughts that a brother should not have for his sister. He coughed, startling her.

“Oh! Jon, I didn’t see you!” She exclaimed with a shaky laugh; Ramsay’s cruelty may have fanned the fight within her but it had also left a shadow of fear deep down.  
“I’m sorry to startle you” He apologised, coming to sit in the chair opposite her “It’s late, you should be asleep.”  
“So should you” she replied, turning back to her needlework.

“What’s that?” he asked, changing the subject and instead pointing to her lap.

“I’m not sure yet, I just picked up the needle and began. You must think me silly” She said, a shy blush creeping along her cheeks “to be playing at this all day whilst outside people are working hard.” Sansa paused, looking down “this was my mother’s chair. I used to watch her work in it and wish I had her skill. To think how many people have died for me to sit here now” she stopped, settling her needle in the fabric, not raising her head.

He wanted to soothe her, to explain that he knew why she was here. To show her that he understood that with every small stitch in the fabric, Sansa stitched a small part of herself together again. He had seen it in the hours he had watched her silently from doorways. As her patterns blossomed, so did she. With each piece, Jon could see her confidence returning, could see hope replace the shadows in her eyes. The confidant front she displayed in public was becoming less of a mask. Sansa was returning normality to her life in the only way she knew how, every bit as much as the people of Winterfell were doing outside the windows. If only he could find the words to explain  
.  
“It’s not silly Sansa” he began- Gods if only he hadn’t spent so many years amongst men he might have learned to talk to women with more ease- “It’s very, um, pretty. Ladylike.” He added lamely.

“Thank you Jon” Sansa looked up at him, smiling. Gladly, Jon returned it, praying he had said the right thing. Why did women have to be so complex? He wondered. Let a man take a swing at something and they’d feel better but women were different beasts entirely.

“You’re just like her you know” Jon aimed at another complement as he took in her deep auburn hair and soulful blue eyes, the soft point of her nose. Again, Sansa smiled. This time, he thought he had done better.

“Just a little less hostile” her lips twisted into a wry grin as their eyes met. Her lips were such a pretty shade of pink.

“A little” he agreed and they both laughed, the sound bouncing off the stone walls and filling the room. 

“It’s good to be home Jon” she sighed, taking in the familiarity of the room. 

Looking at her, he agreed. She fitted in this room as well as any of the furnishings. She was Sansa Stark. She belonged to Winterfell as it belonged to her and when she smiled at him like she was in that moment, Jon Snow felt a part of Winterfell, too. 

“It is” He replied, swallowing down sentences he wished he could say to her, feelings that he refused to acknowledge save for in the small hours of the morning alone in his chambers. He was King in the North and yet without her warmth and acceptance, he would feel no more than the bastard boy whose place within the castle was granted by the grace of others. Sansa was the reason he was here now, Winterfell was their home because of her.

Her gaze flickered to the floor and he realised he had been staring at her for too long. He had forgotten himself in the emotions she stirred up inside of him. Say something, you fool the voice in his mind urged she’s uncomfortable. Say something.

Before he could speak, however, Sansa had risen to her feet and walked forward “take this off” she motioned to the heavy cloak he had left on from his after-dinner walk. When he didn’t immediately move, her hands came forward and deftly undid the buckles, lifting it from his shoulders. “That’s better. You looked like you weren’t staying” she admonished, laying the cloak on a chair by the window.

Instead of returning to her seat, she sank onto the couch on the opposite side of the room “come and sit by me.” It was a command, not a request. He was a king by name but she was a lady by birth; who was he to disobey her?

When he sat, she rested her head against his shoulder. Jon resisted the urge to lean into her, to take comfort from the warmth of her body. Unfortunately, this resulted in a tense, awkward stiffness in his spine. Again, he wished for the casual ease amongst women he’d never had.

“Some might call you brooding, Jon Snow” she mocked gently “and I can see why. Relax.”

Jon tried, he really did but at this proximity the softness of Sansa’s pale skin was unignorable and she smelled like lemons and wood from the fire. It was all he could do not to pull her to him and breathe her in.

“I am not brooding” he replied and the irony of his words had them laughing again as Sansa raised one eyebrow whilst toying at the cuff of his jacket. He stared at her fingers.

As silence fell around them, he listened to the quiet noise of night time outside the windows. Horses were being led across the yard and men called to one another in muffled voices. He felt himself relax, resting his head against hers as snow softly built up on the window ledge. 

“I’ve seen you watching me” Sansa suddenly said after a few minutes and Jon’s heart leapt into his mouth.

“Wh-what?” He stammered, feigning innocence as the tension came back to his body. He felt cornered.

“At night” she added, keeping her tone light and conversational, a complete contrast to the frenzied storm that had become Jon’s thoughts “when you think I can’t see you and you watch me work. I’ve see the way you look at me.”

He didn’t know where to look, what to say. He hoped she couldn’t feel how hard his heart was beating against his chest “Sansa, I”. 

“It’s okay, I’ve watched you too” She continued in her casual tone, ignoring him.

“Oh” Jon replied dumbly, half questioning, half surprised. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what she wanted him to say. Was her admission supposed to make his actions any less wrong? His insides squirmed with conflict.

“Please don’t look like that Jon. I’m as scared as you are.” Her tone was raw, pleading and he allowed himself to glance at her. She stared back at him with something unreadable in her eyes. 

“We shouldn’t be having this conversation Sansa” he attempted to move away from her, to push down the half of him clawing to hold her, to soothe the pain she tried to hide from the rest of the world, to make her feel as loved as she deserved to be. “You’re my sister” he said bitterly.

“Half” she reminded him, pulling him closer. He tried to resist, tried to remind himself of all the reasons why he shouldn’t feel this way. Yet as the warmth of her body pressed against him and he looked into her eyes, they didn’t seem half as important anymore.

“I want this to be our home Jon. Completely. I’m tired of lying awake at night because I can hear Ramsay’s voice in the hallways, feel his hands on my skin. I hate the fact that I expect him to walk through the door at any moment, for me to realise that this was all a dream. I need you to replace those memories Jon. You’re the only person I trust.” She paused as his hand came up shakily to brush stray hairs from her face and she leaned into him “I don’t want one more outsider to touch me.”

It was the quiet tremble in her voice that finally broke him, broke his heart to shards and blew away all the restraint that he had built up over the weeks. 

“No one will ever touch you or hurt you again. I promise.” His voice sounded alarmingly close to a growl as he gave in and pulled her face towards his. The last words were whispered against her lips before he did what he had wanted to do for weeks and kissed her.

It was wonderful, Sansa’s body moulded into him as her lips moved against his. The world started and ended with her: the feel of her hair tickling his face, her body beneath his hands, the smell of her surrounding him, the hungry pull of her mouth. As her lips parted for his tongue, he felt himself begin to harden. Not wanting to alarm her or push her too quickly, he twisted his lower body away from her.

Realising what he was doing, Sansa intercepted his movements. Instead, pushing him backwards until she lay on top of him, her body undulating against his cock in time with her mouth against his. It was wonderful, until it wasn’t enough.

As their kiss deepened, Jon’s hands moved to the fastening of her dress. She had made herself clear, now wasn’t the time for caution, for thinking and he needed more of her. Now. He needed to feel her skin against his own as he’d wanted to for weeks.

They undressed each other quickly, hungrily. The fire in the hearth had been slowly dying over the course of their conversation, now only producing a soft glow which illuminated Sansa’s skin beautifully. She was breath-taking.

He shifted their positions so that she lay beneath him, and Jon allowed his eyes to roam over her body, drinking her in. Her soft breasts arched up towards him, partly obscured by her copper hair and her legs wrapped around his waist to pull him closer, making a study of her own.

“You’re beautiful.” The compliment tumbled easily from his lips, in such a stark contrast from those he had paid her in the past couple of weeks. Now that he didn’t have to watch his words.

Sansa smiled as she traced the scars across Jon’s chest carefully. He almost felt uncomfortable, looking down at his marred skin in comparison with her flawless beauty but as her mouth followed her fingers and she kissed each scar in turn, he felt the complete opposite. 

“So are you” she replied. He believed her.

It had been so long since he had been touched like this, since he had been made to feel good in his own skin. Come to think of it, he didn’t think he’d ever been touched like this. Ygritte had been wild and fast, she had chased pleasure with the singlemindedness of a hunter. Sansa was different, she touched his body reverently, deliberately. Gods he wanted her. Amused, he realised he felt like one of Sansa’s works, being pieced together by her kisses instead of stitches. It was working, he felt more alive than he had in a long time.  
Pulling her hand away from his chest, he kissed the palm softly before lowering his head to gently bite and suck her nipples into hardness. A soft moan escaped her lips as she arched up to his mouth. His cock brushed against her stomach, leaving a trail of wetness as his tip began to leak from want of her.

He traced his hand up the silky expanse of her thigh, pausing at the crease of her hip for permission to go any further. Their eyes met and a soft “please” escaped her swollen lips as she pulled his hand further. He groaned quietly at the sight of her as he began to draw small circles against her sensitive spot, she was so wet. He ached to be inside her but that could wait. He wanted to make her feel good first, wanted to show her how she deserved to be touched. 

He took his time. Sansa’s eyes were glassy and her breathing quick by the time he had increased the speed of his touch “Jon. Oh Jon” she gasped, her hand clawing against the muscles of his back. He grinned as he lowered his head to kiss her. Before long Sansa was shaking beneath him and crying his name into his mouth, serving only to dampen the noise of her climax.

As she gasped for breath beneath him, Jon gave in and began to stroke his now painfully hard cock. She looked perfectly debauched, he thought, her hair stuck to her sticky skin and her chest rising and falling harshly, her legs splayed around his hips. She watched him with a hunger and he was glad to see her relief was only partial.

“I want you inside me” she said, he voice coarse as she pulled him down by his hair to kiss along his neck “I want you to fill me” her breath was hot against his ear and Jon didn’t need to be told twice.

Their soft moans intertwined as he sank into her fully. She was so warm and wet and tight, he could hardly think for the feel of her around him. As he slowly began to move, Sansa’s body writhed beneath him, urging him on.

“More” she gasped against his lips and he happily obliged. Soon, he was pumping into Sansa wildly as her teeth bit into his shoulder and her nails, his back. The pain was a wonderful contrast to the feel of her around his cock. Jon was only vaguely aware of the litany of praise he was murmuring against her now salty skin.

They were both nearing climax as Jon thumbed the spot just above where he was entering her. Sansa tightened impossibly around him and she threw her head backwards as she came with a guttural moan quite unlike the lady she was. Jon had no time to tease her however as he crashed into his own orgasm, pulled from him by Sansa’s writhing body. He bit his lip to stifle a curse as he emptied inside her, every muscle in his body relaxing, his mind swimming with pleasure.

As they lay together, limbs entwined and their breathing returning to normal, Jon sat up with a gasp.  
“The door!” He panicked “anyone could have-”

“Relax” Sansa looked up at him, smoothing her lips against the skin of his arm “I told the servants I’d have no need of them tonight.”

Jon’s sluggish mind fought to keep up “you mean you?” He trailed off incredulously. Had she planned this all along?

Sansa’s grin told him all he needed to know. He found himself grinning too.


End file.
